


An Alternative to Status Quo

by snarkymonkey



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bard becomes an accidental model, Dwarves exist, Elves are immortal, Fashion Designer!Thranduil, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Magic still exists, Model!AU, Modern AU, bit of a slow burn, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3790561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymonkey/pseuds/snarkymonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard had only intended to aid Sigrid in her senior project for her undergraduate degree.  But, with her entering her Master's program and Bain heading to college, the offer of a modeling contract is far too good to pass up.  It certainly doesn't hurt that the offerer of said contract is the gorgeous Thranduil Oropherion.  Shame how it didn't end up as simple as all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     Bard had to admit, Sigrid had an eye for photography.  Though, to see his own face reflected back ended up more unsettling than anything.  Almost like a stranger staring back.  He stood away from the crowd, watching the college students and trustees murmur their appreciation.  Most were him in a casual, candid pose.  A few looked like a professional model had been the subject and not some harried father trying to help his daughter.

     Regardless, the attention paid to the large black-and-white photos left him uneasy.   _How in the Valar can people do this for a living?_  he thought.

     “Da!”

     Sigrid pulled on his arm, squeezing it tight.  She wore a dark blue turtleneck and jeans, her hair loose and warm on her shoulders.  She bounced a little, biting her lower lip.  “This is so amazing!”

     Bard chuckled, patting her hand.  “Aye, you did well.”

     “Pfft,” she snorted.  She retrieved her hand and waved at the photos.  “Me?  They’re hardly talking about me.”  Folding her arms over her chest, she lifted her chin.  “Da, they are all about  _you.”_

     He scowled.  “Sigrid, quit.”

     “I’m serious!”  She patted his shoulder.  “You should be pleased, Da.”

     “I’m just glad your photos turned out well.”

     She rolled her eyes and shrugged.  “Oh, you are so beyond help,” she sighed.  She gave him another pat and a peck on the cheek.  “Da, I’m going to go talk to my professors; don’t sign any contracts while I’m gone!”

     He wasn’t alone long before someone cleared their throat.  He turned, blinking in surprise at the elf at his shoulder.

     The dark-haired elf smiled warmly.  “You make a fitting subject,” he murmured, gesturing to the photos.

 _Shit._   He offered up a weak smile of his own. “Aye.  Daughter was in need of help.”  He coughed lightly, looking away.  “Not something I’m used to.”

     “You have a talent,” the elf pointed out.  He paused, taking a glass of wine from a passing waiter before bowing slightly to Bard.  “Ah, forgive my manners.  I am Elrond Peredhel.”  He straightened, a faint grin on his lips as he sipped his wine.

     Bard stared.  When the name clicked, he paled.  “As in Peredhel Publishing?”

     Elrond dipped his head.  “The very same.”  

     Bard winced.  Of course he had to be rude to one of the world’s most well-known elven publishers.  “Forgive me, sir.  I meant no disrespect.”

     The elf chuckled, waving away Bard’s apology.  “None was taken, I assure you.”  He sipped again at his wine, facing the wall of photos.  “You say you do not do this for a living?”

     Unnerved to be standing next to someone of such import, Bard rubbed the back of his head, his fingers tangling in the short curls.  “Uh, no.  I’m a delivery driver, actually.”  Though, even that was in question.  The Master had long been trying to find a way to shit-can him.   

     “Well, if you are interested, I have a proposition for you.”

     Confused, Bard faced the elf again.  Unlike other elves he’d met, Elrond’s smile remained warm and friendly, his eyes ancient but clear.  He relaxed some at that.  “Aye?”

     Elrond reached into his suit coat, pulling out a white card.  “Call my office.  We are starting a human-centric health magazine for men and I have to say, you would make for a fine example.”

     Bard took Elrond’s card, thumb rubbing over the stylized font.  “Are you serious?” he asked.

     “Very.”  Elrond took another swallow of wine.  “What is your name, by the way?”

     “Bard.  Bard Bowman,” he replied.

     “Believe me, Bard,” Elrond began, gesturing with his wine glass, “your face alone would sell many subscriptions.  And I promise you that you will be well compensated.”  He pointed to the card.  “If you do not wish to, merely call and rescind my offer in the morning.  If, however, you are receptive, I will have a photo shoot set up immediately.”  He bowed again to Bard, sweeping out his hand as he straightened.  “A pleasure, Master Bowman.”

     Bard watched the slender elf walk away, stunned.  He looked again at the wall of photos before turning to watch his daughter.

     A few extra dollars would certainly help, now that Sigrid was heading for her Master’s program.  Besides, it would only be one shoot; what harm would there be?

~~*~~

     Eight the next morning, Bard chided himself even as he dialed the number.  He held his cell phone up to his ear, eyes shut.   _Had to be a joke.  A dream.  Can’t be real,_  he thought.

     “ _Elrond Peredhel’s office; how might I help you?”_ Male voice, very clipped and precise.  Either annoyed at Bard’s call or annoyed with life in general.

     He swallowed.  “Er, Mr. Peredhel asked me to call his office.”

     Silence.  A deep sigh.  “ _And?  Was there more to the conversation?”_

     Face flushing bright, Bard clapped a hand to his forehead.  Was he this bad at speaking?  Shit, no wonder he barely held a job as a delivery driver.  He chewed his lip, staring out the window of his truck.  “Uh, sorry.  I’m . . . um, yes.  He wanted to set up a photo shoot?”

     As though a switch had flipped, the voice suddenly chimed warmly, “ _Oh!  This must be Bard!”_

 _“_ Yes?” he rasped.

     “ _Apologies, Master Bowman.  I’ve been having to deal with a very uncooperative fashion designer this morning and I might have let that seep into our conversation.”_

     Bard shrugged, wriggling in his seat.  “Oh, it’s . . . yeah, no problem.  I understand it can get . . . uh, hectic in, um, this stuff.”   _Valar strike me dead,_  he though, annoyed.  While he wasn’t the most eloquent speaker at times, neither was he completely incapable of stringing sentences together.  But something about this  _professional photoshoot_ unnerved him.  It had been one thing to aid Sigrid’s undergraduate project.  That someone with an eye like Elrond thought he could do this professionally?  Even now, he pondered simply hanging up the phone and pretending none of it had happened.

     But beside him on the truck seat, was the first bill of Sigrid’s tuition for her Master’s program in the fall.  On his salary, he’d never be able to afford it.  And through some strange salary bracket, suddenly, Bard made too much money for her to qualify for any federal aid.  If the shoot paid well enough, he could cover her classes as well as Bain’s in the next year.  He didn’t want to think of what would happen if he couldn’t.

     Thankfully, Elrond’s assistant sounded more amused than anything.  “ _Master Bowman, there’s no need to be worried about a thing.  I promise you that Lord Elrond is a professional and would never have offered you a chance if he thought you unworthy.”_   Bard could hear the rustling of paper and ticking of computer keys.  “ _How is your schedule today?  We’ve an opening at ten this morning.”_

     Bard blinked.  An hour from now?  He supposed that he should be thankful it was one of his day’s off that he’d called.  “I, uh, yeah.  I think that will work.”  He chewed on the side of his thumb.  “Should I bring anything?”

     “ _No, no; we have all that well in hand.”_ He rattled off the address.  Bard recognized it having delivered a fair share of packages to the gleaming high-rise.  “ _My name is Lindir; ask for me at the front desk and I’ll be down to show you up.”_ He paused.  “ _I know this will be your first professional shoot, Master Bowman, but I assure you, Lord Elrond will make certain it’s a pleasant one.  We don’t wish you to be uncomfortable here.”_

     Bard swallowed.  “Okay.  That’s . . . um, good.  A-and you can call me Bard.  The whole ‘master’ thing is . . . odd.”

     Lindir chuckled.  “ _Ah, of course.  I sometimes forget that humans are not as used to such titles.  We elves have yet to let go of that practice._ ”

     Bard’s smile was far more genuine.  “It’s fine.  It’s different, is all.  I’m just a delivery guy; the kindest title I’ve ever received is probably ‘hey you.’”

     “ _Well, I’ve seen your photos, Bard, and I assure you, it’s likely you won’t hear that title for much longer.  Take care and I shall see you soon._ ”

     Swallowing, Bard tucked his phone into his jeans pocket and glanced again at Sigrid’s bill.  For _her._   This was for _her._   For _all_ of them.  He could put up with the unease for a little while if it meant they’d have the things they deserved.

~~*~~

     Thranduil glared at Elrond.  “Remind me again why you keep insisting on delaying me?”

     For his part, Elrond remained unruffled by Thranduil’s antagonism.  “I’ve a pre-standing appointment.  _You_ are simply fussy.”

     Thranduil bristled.  “I am _not_ fussy.”  He slumped in the chair opposite Elrond’s desk.  “Explain to me why I am still tolerant of you?”

     Elrond chuckled.  “Because _I_ am tolerant of _you._ ”  He wagged a pen at Thranduil.  “You should be pleased you are such an in demand designer; your attitude would have driven you from this field long ago.”

     Granted, he knew the truth of it.  He knew he had always been somewhat prickly in terms of his work.  But, after his wife’s death over ten years ago, that prickle had turn to barbs.  He’d driven assistants and models from his side with the dependability of the tides.  Only Legolas and Feren appeared to ignore his temper.  Elrond, his oldest friend, had turned a deaf ear to it ages before that.

     He sighed, crossing one leg over the knee.  “ _What_ could be so damn important?”

     Elrond quirked an eyebrow.  “I’ve a new model to shoot today.  You remember the human-centric health magazine I’d mentioned?  He’ll be the first cover model and, given he’s new to this, I want to make certain I’m there to lend support.”

     Thranduil had to roll his eyes at that.  He disliked working with human models.  His clothing rarely fit them well and those few he managed to _not_ verbally disembowel in the first second were arrogant little shits.  He had no desire to repeat that practice.  Though, given this was Elrond’s first human-centric magazine, he had to admit some curiosity.

     “You won’t mind my peeping in, hm?”

     Elrond chuckled.  “Thranduil, I’d expect it.  You’re much like a cat on its ninth life some days.”

     Perhaps.  Honestly, he wanted to make certain this _model_ wasn’t going to sink Elrond’s magazine before it even hit the stands.  For as much business acumen as he had, Elrond could occasionally be a bit of a bleeding heart.  If he offered this model the shoot out of sympathy, it might ruin the issue.  If Thranduil had to be there to spark fear in the bastard, so be it.

     Shortly before ten, Lindir arrived, dark hair in a braid over one shoulder.  “Lord Elrond?  He’s here; I’ve taken him to the studio downstairs.”

     Elrond nodded.  He rose from his chair and gestured to Thranduil.  “Shall we?”

 _This should prove amusing,_ Thranduil thought.  He knew he was being unkind but his own experience with humans was decidedly poor.  Dwarves were only _slightly_ worse.  He began to formulate an image of this model in his head, assuming him to be barely out of his teens, likely wealthy, privileged.  A general useless member of society, to him.

     He followed Elrond onto the studio floor and halted.  Overcoming his surprise, he moved again, his pace slow.  The image he’d built melted immediately.  Across the way, dressed in ratty jeans and a leather jacket half-zipped up his naked chest, stood an older man, mid-thirties by his guess.  And yet . . . utterly _stunning._

     The dark hair had been slicked back, the curls tight against the nape of his neck.  He had a smattering of facial hair across his upper lip and at his chin, his sideburns extending to just above his strong jaw line.  It was clear, however, that he wasn’t used to the chaos around him.  He fidgeted, barefoot, hands stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans.

     The photographer sighed loudly, startling the man.

     Eredhon.  Well, at least Elrond listened to him in regards to artists.  He watched with some amusement as Eredhon stomped up to the man.

     “No, no, _no!_ ”  He yanked his hands out of his back pockets.  “You . . . don’t be lazy!  Be . . . dangerous.  Sexy.”

     The man quirked an eyebrow.  “I . . . uh, how?”

     Thranduil blinked at the deep voice and strange accent.  Lyrical and haunting.  He was closer now and could see the faint freckles across the man’s forehead and down his neck and bared chest.  Very pleasing.  He could see instantly why Elrond had wanted him.

     “How?!”  Eredhon grumbled and tugged on the jacket, opening it completely and yanked on the man’s hands, dropping them on his hips.  “Have you _never_ seduced anyone?”

     The model chuckled uneasily.  “I, uh, no.  Not exactly.”

     Thranduil’s eyes narrowed and he smirked.  “Think of what you most desire; your most _sinful_ thoughts and let _them_ lead your body.”

     The man jerked, blinking at Thranduil.  When the model swallowed and raised a hand, running it through his dark hair, he barked, “Ah!  _There._ ”  He strode forward, neatly nudging Eredhon out of the way.  He held the man’s wrist, keeping the hand in place and tilted his jaw up, meeting those lovely hazel eyes.

     “Name?”

     The man swallowed.  “Bard,” he rasped.

     Thranduil grinned.  “Well, _Bard._   You’ve an uncanny talent.”  He let go of his wrist and turned to the jacket, pulling the collar back to expose more of his shoulders and chest.  Dropping into his normal zone as designer, he then knelt, tugging on the already low-slung jeans, popping the first clasp as he did.

     “Er, is th-that necessary?” Bard grunted, face flush.

     Thranduil looked up, stunned at how pleasing an image that made.  He smirked in an effort to hide his own unsettled flutter.  “Very.  Haven’t you heard that sex sells?  Even a men’s magazine does well to capitalize on the physicality of the male form.”  He followed it up by smoothing the edge of boxers Bard wore, making certain to frame the name.  He stood then and purred in Bard’s ear, “Just think _sex,_ and you’ll have it.” 

     He rejoined Elrond frowning at the other elf’s amused grin.  “What?” he snarled.

     Clearly fighting a laugh, Elrond commented, “He’s a free agent as far as I know.”

     Thranduil narrowed his eyes at Elrond before turning back to Bard.  The play of firm muscle was enticing.  Bard was in supremely fit condition for a man his apparent age.  He smirked.  “Not any longer.”

     “Oh?”

     “Perhaps it’s time I rethink my stance on human models,” Thranduil mused.  In reality, a very odd feeling of possession had flooded him.  He did _not_ like the idea of any others using Bard as their prop.  There was a strange, fragile innocence in such a rugged man.  But as soon as the camera began to flash, it faded, replaced by the intensity he’d briefly glimpsed.

 _He could be quite famous,_ he mused, before his brow furrowed.  _Unless someone perverts it._ He dug out his cell phone and called Feren.  Before his assistant even acknowledged the call, he grunted, “Cancel all my appointments today, Feren.  Have Legolas fly out to Dale.”

     Feren sighed.  _“What now?_ ”

     “Be pleased, I’ve found a new human model.”

     “ _Please try not to verbally castrate this one._ ”

     Thranduil grinned, catching the flash of hazel as he did.  “No promises,” he purred.  He stuffed his phone back into his slacks.  “When he’s through, I wish to speak to him,” he said to Elrond.

     Elrond lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, turning back to Bard’s shoot.

     It wouldn’t be the first time he employed a full-time model.  That Bard was human hardly mattered.  A model was a model, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

     Bard had expected the shoot to last around three hours, if that.  Which only proved how little he knew of the modeling world.  Buried in the flurry of makeup and constant clothes changing, Bard lost track of time quickly.  Given his novice status, Eredhon was surprisingly generous in explaining what he wanted from Bard.  Didn’t stop him from asking for _everything_ , though.

     Most of the terms and _expressions_ skirted around Bard’s understanding but, eventually, he began to discern what Eredhon needed.  He even began to enjoy it, somewhat.  Taxing but certainly better than sitting at home ignoring house repairs.  But, by the time eight rolled around, he wondered if he’d even make it home.   His eyes burned from the flash of Eredhon’s camera and his back ached from the ridiculous postures the photographer had insisted on.  He _thought_ they’d had lunch but that could have been Eredhon’s set dressing in action.  In any event, his stomach gnawed at his spine thus reducing his patience to a nub.

     He struggled to swallow a yawn, stretching his arms above his head in reflex and inwardly groaned at Eredhon’s crow of triumph.  Dammit, he couldn’t even shift his weight without the bloody elf demanding he do it again and again and maybe arch his back this time.

     _I don’t even know how people do this for a living,_ he grumbled. 

     “Perfect!” Eredhon purred.  “By the Valar, Bard, you are a _dream_ to photograph _._ ”

     “I’ll bet,” he muttered, just quiet enough to be missed.  He wasn’t sure how to take the photographer’s constant commentary.  Or consistent manhandling.  Though, it didn’t appear that Eredhon had any ulterior motives.  He just seemed _very_ particular on how things to frame photos.  In fact, ribald and flirty as his speech would get, Bard had the distinct feeling that Eredhon saw him as little more than a prop.

     He tugged on the long-sleeved shirt he wore – he’d lost count how many he’d changed into in the last hour -- unused to the muscle-defining tightness.  He still wasn’t all that clear on how _he_ would help Elrond sell men’s health magazines but, then again, as long as there were a few extra dollars for the kids, he was willing to do damn near anything.  At least the clothing was nice, if a bit out his own price range.

     Eredhon rolled his eyes, clearly catching the offhand remark.  “You need to be a bit more enthusiastic, Bard.  You have a pretty face but you’re just,” he waved a hand, “a bit stiff.”

     “Not exactly my day job,” he pointed out with a weak laugh.  He leaned against the white wall they’d positioned him in front of, his feet aching.  Hell, at least it wasn’t his arse aching.  He dealt with that enough on deliveries.

     The photographer pursed his lips, eyes narrow.  He came out from behind the camera and sauntered to Bard.  He tapped his chin, eyeing Bard as though contemplating a prized stallion.  “I have an idea.  Perhaps a more dynamic shot?”

     “Like . . . what?” Bard prodded, dreading where this would head.

     “Oh, you know; running.  I could get photos of you in mid-flight, so to speak.”  He tilted his head.  “Do you have any sports you enjoy?”

     “Ah.  Uh, not really?  Well, archery.”

     Eredhon’s eyes gleamed.  “Oh, that’s _perfect!_ ”  He grabbed Bard’s right arm, extending it out.  He ran his hand along the bicep and purred, “The definition of your muscle will be splendid!  You’ll have to bring a bow in tomorrow.”

     _Tomorrow_?  Bard pulled his arm free.  “I thought this was a one day thing?  I have an actual job.”  Not that it was a dream occupation or anything but this _was not_ supposed to be a full-time gig.  Just a lark.  Just . . . something extra.

     But, Eredhon wasn’t listening, already on his way back to his camera.  He turned, squinting at the laptop beside him.  “I think this will work for now.  We’ll get more in the morning.”  He waved absently at Bard.  “You’re free!”

     Stunned, Bard didn’t move immediately.  Not until one of the assistants cleared their throat.  He reddened and pushed away from the wall.  The young elf led him to the backroom where he’d stored his street clothes and jacket, and without even saying a word, she spun on her heel and disappeared.  Bard took a heavy breath, surprised to see his hands shaking.

     “Shit,” he muttered.  He stripped out of the shoot clothes and back into his own, feeling a bit of his tension fall away as he did.  He slipped his jacket on with a sigh of relief.  Digging out his phone, he winced at the series of texts from the kids.  Most were from Sigrid.  Chiding him as usual.

     He dialed her immediately, not surprised to hear a huffed, “ _Da!  No note?_ ”

    “Aye, sorry, love,” he murmured.  He rubbed his forehead, grimacing at the makeup that came away on his fingers.  He’d need fifty showers to get all the guck off him.  “Your photos caught someone’s interest after all.  I was doing a shoot.”

     There was a pause and then a shriek of delight.  “ _They did?  Why didn’t you tell me last night?_ ”

     “I wasn’t even sure I’d take him up on it,” he admitted.  He sat down in the dressing room, forearms on his thighs.  “It ran a bit later than I thought it would but I’m on my way home now.”

     Sigrid’s enthusiasm surged over the phone.  “ _Does this mean you’re a model now?_ ”

     He had to laugh at that.  “No, love.  This was . . . just an extra job.  Like an extra shift or something.  I won’t be back.”

     “ _Oh, pooh; you’re no fun, Da._ ”  She sighed into the phone.  “ _Did you have fun at least_?”

     He winced.  Fun wasn’t _quite_ the word he’d use.  He was fairly sure he knew why modeling was more for younger men.  Exhaustion burned in his muscles from only standing around all day.  “It was different, I’ll give it that.”

     “ _Well, I have a plate for you from dinner.  Tilda’s camped out on the couch with movies and Bain’s staying over at that boy, Ori’s, place tonight.  You remember him?”_

“Oh, sure.”  He rubbed his eyes, yawning again.  At least his children led normal lives.  He only hoped they would continue to do so and not fall into the pit of debt like he had.  “I’ll be home soon, Sig.  You can stop worrying about me.”

     “ _I always worry about you, Da; someone needs to._ ”  She said her goodbyes and hung up.

     He sighed and tucked his phone away, rubbing his face a second time.  Scowling at the makeup on his hands, he retreated to the sink in the corner and scrubbed his face until his cheeks turned red.  As he dried his skin, he peered at his image.  He wasn’t _unattractive,_ he knew that.  Getting older with a few more lines around his eyes and lips, though.  The gray starting to streak his thick, dark hair.  But, then again, there were millions of men like that walking around even now.  What in Arda did he have that appeared different enough to warrant all this chaos?

     He balled the paper towel in his hand and chucked it into the garbage can.  No matter.  He’d done it and would hopefully pocket enough to make it all worth the stress.  He turned at the soft knock on the dressing room door.

     Elrond smiled warmly.  “I am sorry for how long they kept you.  I hadn’t expected Eredhon to be so . . . selective today.”  He shrugged, the suit he wore cut perfectly across his chest and shimmering like stone water.  “He has his moments, now and again.”

     Bard shrugged.  “It’s fine.  It’s been . . . interesting.”  Being under constant scrutiny had definitely worked his last nerve but he’d done it.  Hopefully, the stress would be worth it.  Before he could even contemplate the correct way to ask about payment, Elrond held out a thick, padded envelope.

     “I hope it will be enough to cover the extra time.”

     “Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,” Bard remarked, tucking it under his arm.

     “No need for protocol, Bard.  I want to make sure you agree with the payment.”  He gestured toward it.  “Please, I insist.”

     Uneasy, Bard forced a smile and pulled the envelope out.  He tore it open and withdrew the check.  His eyes nearly bugged out of his skull.  _Twenty thousand?_

     “I, uh, feel like this might be a typo,” he hedged.

     The elf chuckled.  “No, it’s quite right.  Is it suitable?”

     Bard swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.  “I’d say so,” he retorted, grinning.  “This definitely makes up for the time,” he added with a slight laugh.

     Pleased, Elrond patted his shoulder.  “Ah, good.  Now, I know it is late but Thranduil wished to speak to you before you left today.”

     “Thranduil?”  He’d met so many elves and humans today he doubted he could pinpoint anyone other than Elrond and Lindir.  Well, and Eredhon.  But, Eredhon was a force unto himself. Even so, the name _sounded_ familiar though he couldn't recall _why_.

     Elrond pulled a face.  “Yes, the elf who . . . arranged your clothing on the first shoot.”

     Bard’s cheeks warmed.  _Oh._   That one.  Well, he’d not bothered to catch the name, but the face would stick with him until his dying days.  All elves had that eerie beauty about them but something in Thranduil’s pale eyes and even paler hair had been undeniably enchanting.  Had he the nerve, he might have tried to initiate something.  Now he knew better.

     _Not to mention, elves rarely waste their efforts on humans._ Their longer than average lives and lucrative histories probably did a fair bit to make certain that divide remained.  Though, Bard had been lucky.  He’d only managed to meet elves like Elrond over the years; aged but kind.  Thranduil, however, had a strange predatory nature about him.  Like steel buried under fine cloth.  Not someone to cross, probably.

     “Sure, sure,” he mumbled, wincing as he followed Elrond.  He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the other elf wanted to see him about.  Reprimands on how to be a model?  He had to snort at that.  This wasn’t something he planned on doing after today.  The check Elrond had handed over would help offset upcoming college expenses but after that, Bard would be back to his day job.

     _And probably back on the Master’s debt sheet._   His boss paid him poorly and with Bard’s inability to secure a proper bank loan, he’d had to rely on the odious man’s less-than-stellar loan sharks.  By now, he’d probably paid double what he’d borrowed in interest alone. 

     He followed Elrond onto an elevator and up two more floors.  It opened into a warm, well-lit office, the windows offering up a splendid view of the city’s skyline.  Pitch black, the lights of the buildings across the way blazing along the horizon.  _Where does the time go when you’re standing around half-naked in front of strangers_? he mused. 

     Behind the desk and in front of the wide windows sat Thranduil.  His gray eyes watched Bard carefully, pale lips turned up in a faint smirk.

     Elves and their sneering.  He’d seen other elves visit such looks on the Master more than once.  Bard himself had been lucky not to earn such ugliness in his mediocre career.  He had to wonder if it was a born trait or if they took classes for it.  _Fantastic.  This is going to be a marvelous time,_ he thought, defeat settling on his shoulders.

     Thranduil held out a hand.  “Please, sit.”  He straightened and inclined his head toward Elrond.  “Will you be staying?”

     Elrond shook his head and patted Bard’s shoulder.  “I’ve no need to sit in.  Try not to keep him long; he does have a family to get home to.”  He winked at Bard before slipping away.

     Alone with Thranduil, Bard’s pulse quickened.  He cleared his throat and murmured, “You asked to see me?”

     “What do you do for a living, Bowman?” Thranduil asked. 

     He blinked at the stern tone.  _Yep, not someone to piss off,_ he decided.  “Uh, delivery driver.”

     Thranduil arched an eyebrow.  “Shameful waste,” he mused.

     Bard frowned.  “Pardon?”

     He waved a hand.  “Not you, exactly.  I only mean it a waste that _you_ have sat behind a vehicle all this time.”  He smirked again.  “So, enough; I offer you this.”  He pushed a sheaf of papers across the desk.  “An exclusive contract with Oropherion Studios.”  Thranduil sat back as Bard took the papers with hesitant fingers.  “There’ll be no need of _driving_ after today _._ ”

     Oropherion Studios? He had the sinking feeling that was the same Oropherion as the conglomerate, Oropherion Limited. And seated in front of Thranduil, he could remember _why_ the name had been so familiar. One of his daughter's gossip magazines had shown the elf on the cover. An elf like Thranduil had no need to bother with someone as pointless as Bard. He read over the first page of the contract, his throat closing at the figure.  Almost six figures.  To _model_?  That had to be wrong.  “Fuck me,” he breathed.

     “Tempting, but not a part of the contract,” Thranduil purred.  He chuckled at Bard’s stricken look.  “Forgive the poor joke.  I admit it’s a bit higher than a standard yearly salary for first time models.  I don’t care to leave things to chance, however.”

     He tapped his fingers atop the polished surface of his desk.  “Is it not enough?”  The question came out sharp enough to catch Bard’s attention.

     “Not . . .” Bard clapped his mouth shut.  “You do realize you’re offering me more _for one year_ than I’ve seen in the last _three_?”

     Thranduil’s humor stiffened.  “I’m offering you enough to secure your services, Bard.  Someone as naïve as you requires a more direct approach, I’d wager.”

     _What the hell_?  Bard fidgeted in his seat, still holding the contract.  Somewhat of their own accord, his eyes narrowed.  “You think insulting me will get me to sign a damn contract?”

     The elf met the glare with a cold look of his own.  “I have no reason to _insult,_ Bard.  Having an exclusive model only aids my bottom line.”  He shrugged at Bard’s deepening scowl.  “This will be a beneficial partnership; you’ll make money while you’re making _me_ money.”  He waved a hand.  “By all means, run it by your lawyer.  Or _a_ lawyer.”

     “Prick,” Bard muttered, reddening when he realized he’d said it aloud.

     Again that thick chuckle though the eyes had grown harder.  “I have heard _far_ worse from much fairer a mouth.”  He grinned.  “I’m only offering you what I think you are worth.  Others will likely offer less but that would be their loss.”  Another shrug.  “Up to you.  But I should warn you; come publishing day, your phone best be offline.”

     “Why do you care?” Bard asked, still rankled by the elf’s attitude.

     Thranduil made a strange face.  “Care is such a _strong_ word.”  He leaned back in his chair.  “I stated it before:  I’m not one to leave things to chance.” 

     _Sounds like he’s fucking_ purchasing _me._   Bard waved the contract.  “This doesn’t read like you don’t care.”

     “Oh, please; pocket money,” Thranduil scoffed.  “My company is the _top_ when it comes to fashion, jewelry and other luxury goods.  Your salary would be akin to paying for lawn services.”  His grin only broadened at Bard’s clenched jaw.  “In fact, I think my personal gardener makes more than this.”

     Bard resisted the urge – just – to curse at Thranduil a second time.  “You must not think much of me then if you pay a gardener more.”

     “My gardener is an expert.  A master of his craft,” he quipped.  “You?  I think you’re unproven, you’re sloppy, and you’re likely to be a bit of a problem at first.”  He leaned forward, giving Bard the same looked he’d offered up when he’d _adjusted_ his jeans.  Gray eyes hot like tempered steel.  “But, you are also _quite_ stunning and have a certain natural affinity for this.  Like an unpolished stone.  With the right force, you’ll shine.”

      Almost a compliment.  Though, the insults still stuck with Bard.  “And you just want to help me do that, huh?” he asked, the bitterness coloring his voice more than he liked.

      “Though, I’m beginning to see there is a bit of an attitude,” Thranduil drawled as he steepled his fingers together.  “Thank the Valar, you needn’t speak for a modeling shoot.”

     More and more, Bard had the very poor urge to throttle the damn elf.  How in Arda had he managed to run a company with such a sour outlook?  _This_ was the type of elf he tried hard to avoid.  The arrogance and casual malice was too much.  “If I’m such a problem,” he growled, “why are you bothering?”

     “Because Elrond seems to like you and I trust his judgment.”  He waved a hand in a lazy circle.  “I have my suspicions you’ll become a fad and I’ll need to buy out your contract in a few months.  However,” he paused, holding up a finger, “should you prove as good as Elrond assumes you’ll be, I’ll raise it.”  He laced his fingers together.  “All I’m doing is making certain that _I_ am the one who gets the benefit of that striking face.”

     Bard slapped the papers down on the desk.  Enough.  Though it burned to do it, Bard wasn’t about to take a salary from such a bastard.  “I’m not a _thing_ that gets moved around.  I only did this to get some extra cash for my daughter’s tuition.”  He thought he saw the elf’s eyes soften but he figured it a trick of the light.  Temper rising, he stood, his chair scraping the floor as he shoved it back.  “So, thank you _so kindly_ for the offer, _Mr. Oropherion,_ but _I decline._ ”  He threw in a mock bow as he added, “Good luck in your hunt for a new puppet, _Sir._ ”

     He made it halfway to the door when Thranduil stated, “Double.”

     “What?” he turned in confusion, brow furrowed.

     Thranduil hadn’t moved from his position.  “I dislike repeating myself but:  Double.”

     His heart shuddered at the idea.  He forced the temptation away, however.  “No amount of money will get me to put up with your horseshit,” Bard replied.

     “By Eru you have a smart mouth,” Thranduil snapped.  He rose from his chair and swung around the desk, striding toward Bard.  He had changed his clothes since the morning and now wore light gray slacks and a pale blue collared shirt, the triangle of his neck and chest bare but for the peek of a silver chain.  He halted a foot from Bard and folded his arms across his chest.  “Double and hands off.”

     The last made his brow wrinkle again.  “Hands off?”

     Thranduil quirked a brow though his mouth remained a tight, thin line.  “Hands off in that _you_ reserve the right to choose which shoots I present.  But, it is an _exclusive_ contract and you will _not_ shoot with any other photographer or client but those I have approved.”  He smirked and leaned in.  “Have we a deal, Bowman?”

     He thought again of the dollar figure Thranduil had quoted him.  Double that and he’d have all Sigrid’s tuition paid _and_ Bain’s.  Maybe get them out of their shitty two-bedroom house.  Get him away from the Master.  His gut twisted but he swallowed and nodded.

     “Deal.”

     “Good.  Arrive tomorrow morning _here_ at eight.  I will have the updated contract ready for your signature.”  He grinned, teeth gleaming.  “Oh, and expect another long day.  You will have quite the tasks ahead of you, Bard.”

     When Thranduil’s eyes narrowed in triumph, Bard thought, _By the Valar, I hope I didn’t just fuck up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, look at the gross canon husbands yell at each other. :D BET YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHO THRANDUIL'S GARDENER IS!
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

     Bard set down his carrying case and let out a breath, air puffing white in the chill morning.  He wasn’t certain if Eredhon had been serious about his archery gear but he’d not had much chance to use it in recent years so it had been easy enough to drag it along.  Granted, all that was moot given he had to sever ties with the Master first.

     Elrond’s check burned in his back pocket, proof of his ability to pay off the loan.  While it was more than what he owed, he’d happily sign it _all_ over to the bastard if it meant he’d never walk into this place again.  He just hoped this promised salary of Thranduil’s would kick in soon, else it’d be another tight month.

     He shouldered his way into the garage, somewhat relieved to see only Percy at the break table.  It being just past six, the other drivers were either already on the road or not yet in.  He halted in the doorway, glancing around and wondered briefly if he’d miss the place.  Until the unmistakable odor of gasoline and rotten garbage assailed him.

     _Never mind,_ he grimaced.

     Percy gave him a sour grin and muttered, “Alfrid decided we needed to cut back on the number of garbage pickups.”  He held up his hands, using finger quotes.  “For _efficiency_.”  He dropped his hands and frowned at Bard’s case.  “You moving in?”

     Bard chuckled and shook his head, hefting the case and setting it on the table.  “It’s . . . I need it for later.”  He tugged off his gloves and stuffed them in his coat.  “Alfrid in?”

     Percy’s lip curled.  “Where else would the little weasel be?”

     _Now or never._   He took a look at his watch.  Plenty of time before he was expected at Thranduil’s office.  And he didn’t necessarily _need_ to do this.  Thranduil’s amended contract was waiting to be signed.  Elrond’s check certainly wasn’t conditional.  He could avoid all this crazy modelling bullshit and go back to driving.

     But dammit, the money.  He’d make more than he’d seen in all his career of menial jobs.  He could pay Sigrid’s tuition.  Get Bain that game system he wanted.  Actually _give_ his children things for once.  Maybe even get a house that didn’t creak at the slightest breeze.

    _Just means I have to trade one asshole for another._   Though, as assholes went, Thranduil was easier on the eyes.  Small comfort.

     He knocked on Alfrid’s office, pushing it open at the nasally “ _Enter_.” 

     Alfrid squinted at him and sneered.  “Shouldn’t you be out driving?”

     It was with some satisfaction he slapped the sheet of paper on Alfrid’s desk.  “I quit,” he stated.

     The other man picked up the sheet, his eyes narrowing over the resignation.  “You forget, you _owe_ the Master quite a –“ he halted when the check appeared.

     “Twenty thousand.  Signed over.  My debt is cleared.”

     He could nearly see the greed oozing from Alfrid’s pores.  The bastard picked up the check and scanned it, smirking.  “I didn’t realize you were for sale.”

      Bard stiffened.  “What?”

     “I’ve heard the elves like to buy up . . . companions, never figured you for the type, Bowman.”  He leaned back and fanned his face with the check.  “And Peredhel at that?  So much for integrity, hm?”

     His temper spiked, though, he clamped down on it quickly.  Let Alfrid think him some bedmate for an elf.  Given Thranduil’s attitude, he certainly _felt_ bought.  He folded his arms and jerked his head toward the check.  “Slate cleared, right?”

     Alfrid scowled at Bard’s lack of a fight.  “ _Fine._ ”  He pulled out an old ledger book and drew his finger along the sheet.  “Bard Bowman.  Balance owed:  _zero._ ”  He scratched out Bard’s name and tucked the check into the ledger.  Alfrid leaned back in his chair, the lewd grin back.  “I’m sure if this elf gets tired of you, the Master can be _persuaded_ to take you back.”

     Bard clenched his jaw.  “Not that I don’t _trust_ you, Alfrid, but a receipt would be appreciated.”

     Another sneer.  He said nothing, however, as he turned to his computer.  He typed out a few words and printed it out, yanking it from the small tray.  He signed it and shoved it across the desk, letting it fall to Bard’s feet.  “To think you’d doubt the Master’s generosity.”  He clucked his tongue, shaking his head.  “Poor Sigrid with such a morally bankrupt father.”

     At the mention of his daughter, Bard nearly vaulted over the desk.  He’d seen the way the letch looked at her on her rare visits to the garage.  Yet another reason to be away from the place.  “Not that it hasn’t been pleasant working with you, Alfrid,” Bard growled, bending down to snatch the paper from the floor, “but do us all a favor and choke on the Master’s dick.”  He took a great deal of satisfaction in slamming the door shut behind him.

     Percy’s eyebrows lifted.  “What happened this time?”

     Bard’s tension still skated along his arms and he twitched, shuddering.  “I quit, Percy.” 

     The older man grinned.  “’bout time, lad.”  He yawned and stretched, folding his arms behind his head.  “The Master’s exploding head ought to make for some entertainment later.”  He winked.  “Get out while you still can, Bard.”

     Relieved, Bard shook Percy’s hand, promising to keep in touch, and collected his archery case.  Outside again, the cold air drove the last of his irritation away and he breathed out, grateful with his decision.  He wasn’t certain how long this circus with Thranduil would last but even a few months would set him on even ground again.

     The drive to Thranduil’s building remained quiet in the dark morning.  A chilly rain began, pattering against the windshield.  He sighed as he drove to the underground parking lot.  “Fitting,” he muttered.  Yesterday had to have been a fluke.  Today would be a nightmare and Thranduil would likely rip the contract up without a second’s thought.

     He left his car and headed for the elevator.  Only, when he arrived, he cursed.  Key locked.  Thranduil never bothered to pass on a key card of any kind.

     “Shit,” he muttered, hefting his case and heading back out into the chilly rain.  His hair flattened to his head in no time and he stomped his feet, hiding in the small alcove in front of the glass office tower.  Another look to his watch showed just past seven.  He contemplated hiding in his car until eight when his phone rang.

     Sigrid.

     He smiled and lifted the phone.  “Hello, luv.”

     “ _Da!  I’m so excited!  You’re first,_ actual, _day!_ ”

     He chuckled, shuddering when a particularly stubborn drop of cold water wormed its way down his jacket.  “I suppose so.  Hopefully I won’t be as long as yesterday.”

     “ _No matter.  Bain’s home at two today and Tilda’s got the in-service day at school.  I’ve it all in hand, Da.  So don’t worry._ ”

     Bard winced at that.  How much had he thrown his eldest’s way when she herself had a life to lead?  “Aye, neither should you.”

     “ _Da_?”

     “I want you to go to grad school without worrying about your brother and sister.  I’ve put too much on you over the years and I intend to remedy that.”  _Even if it comes at the price of dealing with an arrogant shit._   Really, there were worse things he’d willingly do for his children.

      Sigrid sighed.  “ _Da, it’s not like I hate being here.  I’m happy to help._ ”

     He smiled again.  “Aye, I know, luv.  Just . . . I want you to enjoy your grad school.  All right?”

     “ _I promise._ ”  She went quiet and then perked up, “ _So, when can I come visit?_ ”

     He should have expected that question.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure that would ever happen.  Thranduil hardly looked the type to allow visitors.  Brow furrowed, he shrugged.  “I’m not sure as yet.  Let me figure out how things work and I’ll bring all three of you in.”

     She agreed and hung up and Bard moved to tuck his phone away.     

     “Rather uncomfortable place to take phone calls,” a voice purred.

     Bard jumped, nearly dropping his phone.  He looked over his shoulder to see his new employer, Thranduil, tucked in a high-end coat, dark leather gloves on his hands. 

     The elf lifted an eyebrow.  “Why are you out here?”

     “You didn’t tell me I’d need a pass key to get in the building,” he pointed out, slipping his phone into his pocket.  While the elf worked his last nerve, he was pleased to see him as it meant he’d finally get out of the bloody cold.

     “Oh.  That.”  Thranduil rolled his eyes and flicked his fingers.  “You did make things rather difficult last night.  A minor oversight.”

     _Minor oversight_?  Bard scowled at the elf as he swiped his key card along the alarm panel.  “You were the one making things difficult,” he muttered.

     “Do speak up,” Thranduil retorted.  “I would _hate_ to miss your pithy commentary.”  He shrugged and held the door open for Bard.  “Besides, I hardly did anything.  You were just stubborn.”

     _Fucker._   Bard chose to ignore the jab, instead following the stately elf to the gleaming elevators. 

     Another card swipe and a punch of keys and the elevator door dinged open.  Thranduil swept in, hitting the close button as Bard followed.  “I’m impressed though,” he mused, “you arrived early.”

      Bard glared at him, though grateful to be out of the cold.  “You told me to.”

     Thranduil shrugged.  “My experience with humans is that they rarely do as instructed.  I’m assuming it a result of your comparatively short lives; makes you rather temperamental.” 

     He had to wonder if Thranduil was simply incapable of _not_ being insulting.  He couldn’t quite understand how he and Elrond were of the same species.  “If I’m asked to be somewhere at a certain time, I’m _there_ at a certain time.  Don’t lump me in with your past mistakes.”

     The elf stared at Bard from the corner of his eye.  He said nothing, only gave Bard another intense look-over like he had the day before.  “You’ve yet to prove that,” he pointed out with a smirk.  “Given that I _am_ your employer, I’d think you’d try to be somewhat civil.  In that regard you are like every other human I’ve been unfortunate enough to know.”

     Bard’s hand tightened on his case.  It would be wrong to brain his boss on the first day.  Probably.  “I’ll be civil when you deserve it.”

     Thranduil glared, his eyes darting down to the archery case.  “I see you listened to Eredhon and his ridiculous request,” he mused.

     “Aye,” he murmured, uneasy with Thranduil’s full attention on him.

     “It shall be . . . educational to see you in action then.”

     Bard blushed but Thranduil was already focused on the elevator doors.  He fidgeted, careful to keep his distance.  “I didn’t think I’d see you this early,” _or at all,_ he added.

     “Small talk doesn’t suit you,” Thranduil replied.  He smirked at Bard’s grunt.  “I made the decision to employ you, Bard.  Which means you now owe me performance.”  The elevator opened and Thranduil stepped out in a flourish of expensive fabrics.  His pale hair stood out like a banner against his dark coat.  He halted in the doorway of the room Bard had been in all the day before.  “I will consider the debt repaid based on the next quarter’s sales numbers.”

      Stunned, Bard didn’t react as the elf disappeared from sight.  “Bloody _git,_ ” he swore.  He hesitated a heartbeat or two before he followed Thranduil’s path.  Oddly, Thranduil had completely disappeared from view.  And he wasn’t entirely sure when anyone else would arrive.  Which left him alone and uneasy in a room full of cameras and shuttered lighting equipment.

     With a sigh, he sat down in an available chair.  So far, this new modeling gig was becoming a poor idea the longer he experienced it.  At least the room didn’t smell like wet garbage.  He didn’t get a chance to fret on it long, however, given how quickly Eredhon appeared, trailed by another elf with dark brown hair and golden eyes.

     “Thranduil not here?  I thought I heard bitching,” the new elf remarked.  He barely looked at Bard.  “Unless, of course, you enjoy chastising yourself?”

     Wary, Bard gestured vaguely behind him.  “He’s . . . somewhere.”    

     “Ah, there he is!”  Eredhon grinned and approached Bard, arms out.  “My stunner awaits!”

     Bard laughed weakly.  “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”  While his irritation with Thranduil still burbled, he had to admit some relief in seeing a familiar, _friendly_ face.  Even if it was Eredhon.

     Eredhon stuck out his tongue.  “Did you forget, my dear?  You are a photographer’s dream.  If I can lavish you with praise, it means you’ll stick around and thus make my job easy.”  He tugged Bard out of his chair, stripping the coat off immediately.  “Galion, isn’t he exquisite?”

     The other elf, Galion, rolled his eyes.  “Yes, ‘redh.  Delightful.  Carved by the gods.  A gem among elk shit.”  He winked at Bard.  “I’d suggest letting him get comfortable before you begin stripping him, however.”

     Bard paled.  “S-strip?”  Clothing.  He was only supposed to be modeling clothing, right?  No one said anything about . . . skin.  He could feel himself shrivel at the idea of thousands of eyes focused on his . . . bits.

     Galion blinked and smiled warmly.  “Ah, figure of speech only.  We rarely do nude shoots, Bard.”  He extended a hand.  “I’m Galion.  I’m usually the voice of reason alongside Feren.”  He nodded toward Eredhon as he collected his hand.  “’redh, as you know, is the photographer.  I’m one of the editors.”

     Bard didn’t fight the relieved puff of breath.  “All very in house, then?” he asked as he folded his jacket.

     “Very.”  Galion shrugged.  “Thranduil isn’t a fan of outsourcing.  If he can’t do it _his_ way, he won’t do it at all.”  He jerked his chin toward the case at Bard’s feet.  “Wardrobe?”

     “Er, no.”  Bard fidgeted, suddenly cold and naked without his winter coat.  “Archery equipment.  Eredhon thought it a good prop.”

     Galion sighed and pinned Eredhon with a stare.  “Oh.  Good.  You’ve suggested a murder weapon.”

     For his part, Eredhon waved a hand in irritation.  “Oh, please.  I doubt he’d even hit Thranduil.”  He halted, thinking.  “Well, at least not lethally.”  He lifted Bard’s arms, brow furrowed as though he inspected a prized stallion.  “You’ll be too busy looking like Adonis, I’d say.” 

     Amused, Bard shook his head as Eredhon shifted his arms one way and then another.  “Shall I just nap while you play dress up?”

     “That would be amazing if you could,” Eredhon replied.  He patted Bard’s cheek.  “But, alas, living dolls have tics.”  He startled Bard by tugging up the hem of his shirt.  With a wistful sigh, he stated, “Shirtless.  First set will be shirtless.” 

     “Eredhon.”  Thranduil strode into the room, a heap of clothes in his hands.  “Use these.”  He glanced at Bard as he said it, his eyes lingering where Eredhon had rucked up his shirt.  “It’s from the new line and if he can move this, he’s earned his contract.”  His gray eyes flicked over Bard again, calculating as ever.  “For _now._ ”

     Bard’s humor soured immediately.  “You should be thankful I’d even wear your shit.”  He might have panicked had he not heard Galion’s choked snort of amusement.  Eredhon merely bit his lip before turning away.

     Thranduil tilted his head, eyes narrow and lips twisting sharply.  “Oh?  You’ve a choice?”  He strode to Bard and lifted his chin, peering through long, dark lashes.  “You, my _good man,_ are nothing more than a promo card in a shop window.  So, shut your mouth and look pretty, like I’ve paid you.”

     Bard jerked out of Thranduil’s hold, calling it a win when the elf’s jaw tightened.  “You’ve not paid as yet.”

     “Indeed,” he mused.  He folded his arms over his chest.  “Galion.  Have Feren wire ten thousand to Mr. Bowman’s account by day’s end.”  He smiled, cold and taut.  “Now.  _Earn it._ ”  Without a word, he turned on his heel, his pale hair dragging softly against Bard’s cheek as he did.

     Bard’s hand clenched, his jaw aching with anger.

     “Well,” Galion mused.  “You certainly make an impression.”  He held up his hands at Bard’s glare.  “Easy.  I’ve dealt with Thranduil’s moods over the years.  Believe me when I say he’s actually pleased you stood up to him.” 

     “A bit of an exaggeration, wouldn’t you say?” Bard rasped.  He picked up the clothing Thranduil had brought in and found a heavy cable-knit sweater and dark jeans.  _Thank the Valar,_ he thought.  He’d be clothed for a little bit at least.

     “And you don’t know Thranduil,” Galion remarked.  He patted Bard’s shoulder.  “Good luck, lad.”

     Bard barely got his ‘thanks’ out before Eredhon began digging through the clothing pile.  He fingered the sweater in his hands, once more certain he held something worth more than his last paycheck.

     _All for them,_ he thought as Eredhon began deciding outfits.  _Put up with him long enough_ for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMFG A CHAPTER. :p
> 
> Life took a deep nose-dive into the shitter for me lately so I had zero impulse or inspiration to write anything but blurbs on my blog. I don't necessarily know when I'll add more. But I have many thanks to magic-ramen for being the bestest idea-bouncer-offer on the planet. And Kiriei for being a horrible, horrible influence and forcing me to look at images of Luke Evans on a fairly regular basis. 
> 
>  
> 
> [My blog](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


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